


To the Poison

by draculard



Category: The Master (2012)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Aunt/Nephew Incest, Bed-Wetting, Heartache, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Loneliness, M/M, Masturbation, PTSD, Pining, Post-breakup, Sex Addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:08:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22866094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: There are a million things these days that make Freddie think of Lancaster.
Relationships: Lancaster Dodd/Freddie Quell
Kudos: 8





	To the Poison

That feeling of pain when he’s already masturbated four times today and his cock can’t handle anymore  — the friction when he starts again anyway, no lube, no spit. There’s no pleasure in it, anyway; when he comes, it’s just an exhausting game of build-up and release. And nothing comes out  — and he certainly doesn’t see stars, not at this point  — but he does it, anyway.

The flash of a camera bulb, the way it whites out everything else, the way it turns his vision negative for just a second after. He likes the way that feels.

It’s the same way he likes that chemical taste of moonshine on his tongue, the way paint thinner sears and burns on its way down to his throat, how it sits in his stomach, warm and toxic.

The feeling of a warm hand on his shoulder.

The feeling of a proper hug, a close hug, one man clinging to the other so their chests are flush, so their hips are touching, so their legs get tangled up.

The way his brain buzzes and churns when he’s staring into Lancaster’s eyes, trying not to blink.

When he wakes up sweating or with piss soaking his mattress, when just for a moment he thinks he sees Aunt Bertha standing over him, when he gets hard even though his heart is beating so fast he thinks he might die.

All these things  — no matter how many years pass, no matter how long it’s been or how things change  — make him think of Lancaster Dodd.

The smell of semen on his hand or alcohol on a girl’s lips; the sight of an open meadow or placid sea; that hollow feeling in his gut when he lays down and reaches out, but feels nothing under his arm. Not warm skin. Not even sun-warmed sand.

In those moments, he can taste Lancaster on his tongue.

In those moments, he feels like God.


End file.
